


distractions

by ravenouses



Category: Labyrinth (1986), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Jotun!Loki, M/M, Short One Shot, frostcrystals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-07
Updated: 2015-11-07
Packaged: 2018-04-30 11:51:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5162816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ravenouses/pseuds/ravenouses
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jareth's wanderings are prosperous at last.</p>
            </blockquote>





	distractions

Jotunheimr. It was perhaps the harshest realm that Jareth had ventured. After a little more than a day, it had yet to stop snowing, the wind never ceasing to howl across the beaten mountains. He had seen ruins and remains of old cultures, tall straight forests, half frozen rivers, and the world of eternal winter looked as though it gave nothing and took everything. Unforgiving and unrepentant.

At least Svartalfheim had its threads of magic still, some connection to the fae worlds, as cruel a war ravaged rock that it was. Here there was nothing but the cold.

It suited his disposition. The air bit pain into his skin, and made him forget, temporarily, the bitter rage and sorrow of his heart. Instead of wallowing in his pathetic state of self-pity and self-loathing, he chose to wander the worlds, unguided, in search of distraction. Anything to bid away that vision of _her_ that always burned in his mind, driving him to dance on the edge of madness.

He rather wanted the girl herself obliterated from all existence, but to extinguish her from his thoughts would be a start.

The king paused, his slow tread becoming strenuous after so long. He could stand there and freeze away all his sense, but he doubted he would find anything more of interest. Blinking up to the grey sky, he loosed a deep, weary sigh and pulled his cloak tighter around himself.

No sooner did he resolve to bid this realm farewell then his breath was forcibly knocked from him, chest contracting with the pain of a precise and sudden blow. He swore his heart stopped for several beats before he came to his wits, already fallen on his back, (and in hindsight, he knew he very well could have been killed then and there). By the time magic flared to a clawed hand with intent to return the attack, he could only stare with blue eyes frightfully wide down at the end of the _spear_ poised an _inch_ from his throat.

Crimson irises blazed fiercely into his own gaze, and no words need have been spoken aloud to reiterate the warning there. _Move and you die_.

In a sort of awe, despite his apprehension, he took in the azure skin color of the Jotun straddling his hips, then visually tracing the curving markings on him. They didn't look like scars, nor like tattoos; perhaps some kind of birth markings. And he could scarcely believe the man wore no more than a fur cloak and a loincloth in this cold, not counting the bands of gold that adorned him. The most beautiful and terrible sneer was upon those lips, and raven-feathered hair hung in waves damp from the snow around a cruelly angular face. Curving backwards from those inky locks atop the being's head were two black horns.

Jareth barely dared to shift beneath the lean muscles above him, sensing the strength in the tensed limbs. And well enough, for every inch of the Jotun was well defined, he noted with a keen shimmer in his eyes.

And at last, a smile curled on his lips, haughty and amused. The Jotun seemed to bristle from it. _At last_ he had found something interesting.


End file.
